


Until We Dance Into The Fire

by heavvymetalqueen



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Dissociation, Gen, Hypnosis, M/M, ocekaz death pact
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-02-03 02:05:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12738810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavvymetalqueen/pseuds/heavvymetalqueen
Summary: "Snake was never gentle. Snake was never loving, he never looked at him like the most important gift the world had given him. He looked at him the way he looked at a facility crawling with enemy soldiers - like a challenge.There’s only so much a chunk of metal to the brain can change a man."Kaz and Ocelot finally have a talk.





	Until We Dance Into The Fire

**Author's Note:**

> This was my piece for the amazing In [Defense of Peace zine](https://twitter.com/IDPzine)! It was a great honor to be involved in this beautiful project :)

There is blood on the leg of his pants, just below the knee. The smell of it makes him want to vomit, makes his vision blurry and his breath short even though it’s not his blood.

Even if there were buckets more of it, his leg won’t ever come back, his hand won’t ever hold Snake’s again. And his revenge is as empty as his sleeve.

He doesn’t realize he’s making a high pitched, panicked keening noise until he feels Snake’s fingers pressed against his cheek - they’re wet with blood, he can smell it, metallic and sharp - his lips warm against his temple.

“Just breathe,” he says, and his voice calms him down instantly, his tense back loosens. He’s always known how to stop him from going too far...

Only he didn’t used to, did he.

A shred of memory, half eaten by age and dust; burning knuckle marks on his face, light seeping through cracked shades, arm around his throat as his vision fades.

No, Snake has never known how to calm him down. He only knew how to subdue him until he stopped struggling.

It’s somebody else who told him to just keep breathing when that mission on the Jordan went south and he’d driven them into a swamp; gloved hands pressed to the nape of his neck to distract him from the gear stick stuck through his side and bleeding him out like a sacrificial pig.

Somebody else that told him, as Snake is telling him right now, “everything is fine. You are safe, breathe, don’t stop breathing”, breathless through the radio, crackling through the howling wind.

“I’m coming,” had said Ocelot, and his flashlight had shone through the typhoon that had separated them in Bangladesh.

“I’m here,” says Snake, warm against him and uncaring of the disgusted looks he’s getting from Huey.

Kaz’s breath slows down, his eyes drooping.

He’s so tired.

***

Gloved fingers whisper against his elbow as he stares up at the metal monstrosity they have brought home with them. Snake has turned, he is leaving already.

“Are you okay?” says Ocelot, quietly, softly enough only Kaz can hear it under the screech of metal.

Kaz grunts, knocks his hand off, turns to follow Snake.

Doesn’t miss the split second in which Ocelot’s eyes aren’t glassy with lack of emotion but the same eyes he remembers looking up into on that sweltering monsoon night, their bodies tangled together warmer than the tropical rain.

Kaz is functionally blind, but not stupid.

Or perhaps he is stupid, or just lonely, because he lets Snake lead him back to his quarters and kiss him, hold him, make love to him.

What an idiot he’s been, Kaz considers as he undoes Snake’s hair and runs his only five fingers into it as he falls asleep at Kaz’s side.

Snake was never gentle. Snake was never loving, he never looked at him like the most important gift the world had given him. He looked at him the way he looked at a facility crawling with enemy soldiers - like a challenge.

There’s only so much a chunk of metal to the brain can change a man.

The light up in the command office of the intel tower is still on as he slips out, the cool air biting through his sweatpants and his thin t-shirt.

He’s heard soldiers whisper sometimes, wondering if Instructor Ocelot even sleeps. Kaz used to wonder that himself, long ago.

He never bothers to tell them anything. What would he tell them? That he knows Ocelot sleeps because he’s had him breathe quietly into the back of his neck as they shared a small single cot in the middle of the Brazilian jungle? That he’s brushed his growing hair - still pale blonde, back then - out of his peaceful face on a hot morning in a luxurious Kabul hotel? That Ocelot does sleep but never enough, that he’s on so many stimulants normal people would never sleep again, that he’s so incredibly tired all the time and only Kaz knows why?

Would just hurt morale.

Ocelot doesn’t act surprised when he steps through the door. Then again his steps are hard to miss nowadays.

“Do you need something?”

Kaz drags one of the empty chairs towards the desk and sits down. Ocelot’s desk is covered in paper and charts. He’s marking off the XOF locations as new reports come in that they’re slowly coming apart.

“I need the truth.”

Ocelot blinks. “I’m sorry?”

“What did you _do_ , Ocelot?”

Ocelot stares at him for a long hanging second, and then goes back to his paperwork. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Miller.”

Kaz snatches the stack of papers out of his hand. “You haven’t called me that since ‘81.”

They both still have the marks of that terrible, awful year. Kaz is sure of it.

“Diamond Dogs is a professional institution now, it wouldn’t be...”

“We’re _alone_ ,” he grunts.

Ocelot sighs. “What are you asking me, Kaz?”

Kaz cringes. He thought hearing his name would help, but it makes things worse. It sounds nothing like it used to.

He reaches out for Ocelot’s face. Ocelot doesn’t even flinch. He isn’t wearing his glove. Ocelot’s beard is soft under his fingertips.

“Where are you, Ocelot?”

“I’m right here.”

He cups his cheek. “You aren’t. Not the man I built this damn thing with. Not the man that nearly bled out on me in Pakistan. Not the man that saved my ass so many times I lost count.” Rubs his thumb across Ocelot’s pink lips. “And right now I need him to talk to me.”

Ocelot’s eyes slip closed, his head heavier in Kaz’s palm.

“Just keep breathing,” he says, trying to fish the right tone from his memory. “Breathe. I’m right here.”

“Kaz,” croaks Ocelot, and yeah.

Now it sounds like him again.

“Who is he, Ocelot?”

A shudder runs through him, his breath shallow. “Snake. The boss.”

“He isn’t, though. _Who is he_ , Ocelot?”

Ocelot’s eyes snap open, his pupils blown. He’s shaking, and sweat beads on his forehead. “I...don’t...”

“Tell me the truth.”

Color drains from Ocelot’s face, and his eyes roll back into his head. For a second Kaz is sure he’s going to pass out, but he doesn’t; he crumples against him, mumbling gibberish and numbers. Kaz holds him up. He waits for his breathing to slow down, for the death grip he has on his arm to loosen.

When Ocelot sits back, he’s another person. His posture, his eyes, even the way he breathes. Similar to the one he used to know, yet not _quite_.

“He was on the helicopter,” he says finally, his voice deeper, his fake accent almost gone.

“Morpho?”

Ocelot shakes his head, “Morpho is dead.”

Kaz blinks. On that helicopter were him, Snake, Chico...Paz, and with his hands in her gut... “The medic.”

The flutter of Ocelot’s long lashes is all the confirmation he needs.

“Why?”

“No choice,” he whispers, so quiet it’s almost a breath. Then he blinks, slowly, his eyes turning to steel. He touches Kaz’s hand, then his own ear.

Kaz hasn’t fought at his side for a decade for nothing. He knows what he’s telling him.

There are ears everywhere.

“What was it all for? If the Boss has some plan, what is it?” he makes sure his voice carries. Calling _him_ Boss now tastes like burning fuel and children’s blood.

When Ocelot speaks, his tone is mechanical and monotone, just like the way he talks to Snake on the radio. His accent is back. His explanation is disgusting. Horrifying. Incredible, and for that very reason completely believable.

That _bastard_.

Kaz plays along. It’s not hard to sound angry, disgusted, betrayed. To make threats anybody would laugh at, the spiteful rant of a scorned, helpless cripple.

“One of us will have to kill the other,” says Ocelot, and his eyes tell a completely different thing.

“Fine by me.” He laboriously stands, making as much noise with his crutch as possible. “I’ll be ready for the new era. Until then...we might as well get used to coexisting.”

He glances over at Ocelot as he goes, takes in the sweat rolling down his face, the strain in his eyes. He nods, sharply, and leaves.

There aren’t many places on the whole base that won’t be bugged, including their quarters. There is one place, though, or at least Kaz hopes there still is.

He can’t guarantee Ocelot will come to the small, hollowed out sentry on top of a forgotten tower on the command platform. He can’t even guarantee he remembers it exists at all, or the day they discovered it while exploring the newly acquired base. Nor the sweltering summer nights they spent up there before Snake came back, before everything went to shit, drinking warm gin and watching their new home grow under their feet.

Their lawn chairs are even still here, the metal rusted and the plastic webbing faded and frayed. Kaz drops into one of them, shaking a little from the effort of climbing all the way up here. The silence up here is not as absolute as it used to be. There’s the distant buzz of floodlights and the rumble of vehicles on the ground floor filtering through the missing windowpanes, but if Kaz has to think of a place where nobody will listen, this is it.

The only person who could know about this place aside from Ocelot can’t tell anybody, anyway.

It doesn’t take long before the familiar sound of boots and spurs hitting metal stairs reaches him, or perhaps he dozed off while looking at the dark silhouette of the monster they have willingly invited into their home, stark against the moonlight.

“Hey,” he says as the chime of Ocelot’s steps reaches his level. “Was wondering if you’d forgotten about this place.”

“I did not,” says Ocelot, sitting down gracefully in his chair. Kaz feels something cool against his knee, and when he looks down he sees the unlabeled bottle of clear liquid resting on it, beaded with condensation.

He takes it, uncaps it with his teeth, spits the cap in Ocelot’s cupped hand, takes a deep pull. It burns all the way down his toes, even the ones he doesn’t have anymore.

“Christ,” he coughs, passing the bottle back. “What the fuck is this, helicopter fuel?”

“Maybe if you gave us more of a budget to build a still, the moonshine would be better.” Ocelot takes a gulp and only winces a little.

“I already let your division grow weed in the greenhouses. Don’t push it.”

“Hmm.”

They sit in the cool night, cheap booze burning inside them. Kaz feels as if the last year has been a dream, and he’s back to building Mother Base with his annoying, invaluable ball and chain. He’s missed him.

“Why wasn’t I told?”

Ocelot stares off into the distance, his eyes pale as ice in the moonlight.

“He doesn’t trust me anymore, does he.”

Ocelot takes another pull of the bottle, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Shakes his head.

“Do you?”

“Yes,” he finally says. “Despite all odds.”

Kaz snatches the bottle, coughs on his angry gulp. “Then why. Why didn’t you _tell_ me?”

Ocelot doesn’t answer. He taps the tip of his boot against Kaz’s prosthetic leg with a hollow sound.

Oh.

“Is that why I’m crippled now?”

“You needed to not be a threat.”

Kaz’s arm snaps up faster than Ocelot can see it coming, or perhaps he takes the elbow to the mouth because he thinks he deserves it.

Kaz doesn’t care. It feels good to feel his teeth into his bone, to watch him topple over and spit blood onto the dusty floor.

“A threat to _who_?” He’d get up to tower over him, but he’s tired enough his voice will have to do.

Ocelot looks up at him, smearing blood on his cheek with the back of his hand.

“Snake?”

Ocelot gets up, straightens the chair, and sits down. His lips are red like he’s wearing lipstick. “And whoever else would come for you once you learned the truth.”

“Are you saying this is what? Your twisted way of _protecting_ me?” he snarls. Two weeks of torture. _Two weeks_. A lifetime of pain and helplessness unrolling before him every morning, all because...

“You’re alive, aren’t you?”

Kaz thinks of all the times he’s wished he wasn’t; under the weight of laughing Russians, burning with pain in his sweat soaked bed, sitting on the shower floor and sobbing because he can’t even wash his hair, crumpled in a heap in a hallway at 3am, hungry and ashamed.

“I never said that I don’t make mistakes,” says Ocelot quietly.

Kaz feels as if he should be angrier than he is, but he’s so _tired_ , and the sea breeze and the moonshine are making him hurt a little less. He got his shot, and knows Ocelot well enough to know next time he’ll fight back. Besides, what would be the point? Ocelot does not understand morality the way normal humans do. He’s long known this. He chose to work at his side even though he knew this.

_Him_ , on the other hand....

“I’m going to kill him,” he grunts, and takes an angry gulp from the bottle. The moonshine is getting warm, and it tastes even worse now. “I’m not going to stop until the bastard is dead. If you want to stop me, you better shoot me now. You won’t get a second chance.”

Ocelot turns to look at him, with the cold moonlight reflecting in his eyes, like an actual cat. He smiles. It’s icy and bloody and _real_.

“You don’t want to stop me,” says Kaz, realizing it as he says it.

Ocelot just keeps smiling.

Kaz shakes his head. “Who’s going to suspect the bitter, angry cripple, huh?”

Ocelot takes the bottle and takes a sip.

Kaz feels as if they have just agreed on a business deal, only it’s their lives and hearts on the line.

“Are you going to tell him? Sn- the B...”

“Venom,” supplies Ocelot helpfully.

“Him.” Venom will have to do, from now on.

Ocelot looks away, at the moon or perhaps the machine slumbering against the sky. “That’s up to you. He’s your lover, not mine.”

Kaz loops his arm around his shoulders, pulls him closer. “We’re going to have to make some changes about that. And us.”

His lips taste like metal and warm moonshine. Still feel the same. Ocelot still makes those little happy sounds in his mouth. It has been a while, and Kaz was too angry and in pain to really realize how much he’d gotten used to this before.

When they part Kaz doesn’t let go. Ocelot tries to resist a little, then sighs and rests his head on Kaz’s shoulder, their knees pressed together. He’s warm, and smells just like he always does, old fashioned cologne and leather and gun oil.

“I missed you,” says Kaz quietly.

Ocelot thumbs his knee. It means “I missed you, too.”

“Don’t go away again.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” he chuckles.

Kaz feels him relax against him. He wishes he could hold him like he used to.

But he could, if he wanted to, couldn’t he?

“I should talk to Kudu tomorrow,” he says in Ocelot’s hair.

“Which Kudu?”

“Panzer. You know. The bionics guy.”

Ocelot pulls away to look at him. “Seriously?”

Kaz looks away, at the soft glow at the horizon. “Didn’t you tell me once that pain can only get you so far?”

“I was talking about torture, to be fair.”

“So am I. And right now I’m as far as it could get me.”

Ocelot brushes his hand up his empty sleeve. “Welcome to the winning team, Kaz.”

“That’s Commander Miller to you. We hate each other, remember?”

Ocelot smiles, wide and cruel. “Of course.”

“Now,” he says, patting his shoulder. “Tell me the truth.”

“About what?”

“Everything. From the very start to what we’re supposed to achieve.”

Ocelot laughs weakly. “There’s a lot.”

“Our schedule just opened up considerably. We’ve got time.”

Ocelot starts talking, and Kaz listens. He tells him everything, from the monsters who - for lack of a better word - raised him to the day he met Snake; the Patriots, Zero, the twins, the accident...everything.

Eventually the bottle is empty and they’re shivering a little. There’s old blankets in one of the cabinets, some still stained from their early days’ _extracurricular activities_. They curl up on the floor in a pile of them. Ocelot massages his shoulders while he tells him everything he omitted while they were working together. Sometimes Kaz guesses something right, something he suspected or had already figured out at the time, and it earns him a smile.

Ocelot’s voice slows down, tiredly, as he explains the convoluted, lifelong con Kaz just chose to willingly help with. The sky is already tinging with a bluish hue, and the stars are fading. Kaz closes his eyes, lulled by the deep vibrations of Ocelot’s chest against his ear.

It will be hard. It will be bloody, and ugly, and unscrupulous. Good men and women and innocents will suffer. But this time Kaz isn’t alone against the world, he won’t be propped up by phantoms and pain; but a man, flesh and bone and the sharpest mind there is, even with the tampering. He isn’t a pawn being led by the big players. He - they - will be shaping their own destiny. It has a nice ring to it.

And the quietly thrumming base under them is proof perfect that together, they are _unstoppable_.

It’s a thought infinitely more comforting than putting half a dozen shotgun shells into a dying man.

He was right, though. This isn’t over.

It’s just beginning.


End file.
